


Paywall

by YoungSoon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu has a crush, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Crushes, Developing Relationship, Kiyoomi has onlyfans, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Time Skip, Semi-Public Sex, This is a thing and I can't really explain why it is, i don't know what I am doing, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungSoon/pseuds/YoungSoon
Summary: Atsumu has a heart-breaking crush he doesn't know what to do about.Kiyoomi runs a secret OnlyFans account.What if these two worlds cross by accident?
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Paywall

_Locate._

_Aim._

_Jump._

_Set._

Atsumu lets out a long breath as his feet touch the floor of the court again, his eyes following how the yellow and blue ball hits the opposite side of the net with a loud bang. His eyes shift to the man landing next to him - from the tensed calves to thighs tightly hugged by the shorts, up over the still out and ready hands, deeply moving chest, and all the way up to the face he could fully see so rarely. Lips just barely parted, eyes focused on the other side of the net, messy black curls falling over his teammate's forehead - fuck, he is so beautiful. And so damn close, yet it feels like the net has been stretched between them since the moment they met.

"Nice one!" Meian yells from the back of the court, and the tension slowly slips away from the duo who perfectly performed the final drill of the day. "We couldn't ask for a better ending," he claps a few times, getting all attention to him. Atsumu turns to the captain of Black Jackals, his serve partner doing the same. "Get some rest before tomorrow's game! No opponent can be underestimated," the whole team responds to his words with a loud yell of agreement, and slowly, a bit sluggishly begins clearing the court to leave.

Before Atsumu manages to turn and offer a high-five for good practice to his teammate, the man next to him has already walked several steps forward. Not that he would even accept a nasty, dusty, sweaty high-five to begin with. He breathes out slowly, hoping no one has noticed his failed attempt at a simple celebratory action with a half-raised hand falling back to his side and starts walking toward the edge of the court. As an arm sling over his shoulder, he knows he has been noticed.

"Why the long face, Atsu?" of course, it has to be Bokuto who notices that something is off. It could have been anyone else, and Atsumu could get them to believe all is good, but it never worked with the slightly taller man. "You are so out of it lately? What's up?" he asks, putting a bit too much of his weight onto the blond. "We can't have you under the weather for the games. This championship is as important as any other," he adds as they go towards where Atsumu has left his water bottle and jacket.

"I don't know what you are talking about. I'm fine," the blond tries to play it off, hoping Bokuto will back off, but it is a false hope.

"Eeeeey, that's a lie. You set for me too, you know, I can feel something is off," he insists and lets go of the blond to lean against the wall, crossing his arms on his chest. "It's super easy to tell when a setter s feeling off. You can't hide it."

"What exactly feels off? I will keep it in mind for tomorrow's game," this is exactly the answer the hitter doesn't want to hear; his long exhale makes it very obvious. Even if Atsumu tries to sound more cocky and confident, this direct confrontation is not his strong suit.

"You are so tense. It isn't like you," Bokuto furrows his eyebrows, his eyes piercing as he stares at the blond. "Have you been looking after yourself?" he asks in half-whisper, looking around to make sure no one is listening.

"My physical state is fine. Nothing hurts," Atsumu is the one confused now as to where this question is going.

"No, no, no, no. You're a dude, you know what I mean," Bokuto continues in the same deep whisper, and Atsumu can feel his eyes growing large. "Don't look that shocked. Makes me look like a creep!" Bokuto switches to shouting, and it's a great wake-up call for the blond.

"What the hell are you implying?" he drops his things on the floor and stands in front of Bokuto, the few centimeters the man has on him now seeming as meters, the all-knowing smirk the only reaction to Atsumu's sudden outburst.

"We are all dudes here, and we spend so much time together. It's easy to tell if someone is a bit frustrated," he continues so nonchalantly Atsumu can feel his cheeks grow red.

"Shut the fuck up," Atsumu turns away, thinking how obvious has he been, has he, perhaps, been staring too much or been in any other way too open about his personal frustration, his personal and stupid needs, desires, obsessions - call it as you may.

"Oi, it's nothing bad! Don't worry! You just need to get yourself back on track somehow," Bokuto moves away from the wall. "Admitting the issue is the first step," he adds and heads to get his stuff, as the court is clearing out, leaving them the only ones there.

"Easier said than done," Atsumu murmurs, grabbing the things he has dropped on the floor.

"Just watch something," the taller of two puts on his jacket and slings his bag over his shoulder. "Shouldn't be that difficult."

"It's a... moral thing," the blond admits. That's the best way he can put it. It doesn't feel right browsing through dodgy sites when there is someone he actually likes, someone he wants to do unspeakable things to. But then again, he can't do anything about the ridiculous, teen-like feelings he has.

"Well, if you can pay for things to look at, so it would feel less wrong. Support people on OnlyFans or something. If it's a moral thing," the white-haired man thinks out loud. "Team needs you at full force, Atsu," he throws a quick thumbs-up before leaving the gym, leaving Atsumu alone. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps he needs to let off some steam. For how long can he cling onto such silly feelings, how long can he let them eat at him? It is not 'cheating' if there is no actual relationship. Right?

He breathes out slowly before leaving the gym, another figure walking out of the locker room at the same time. "Oh! Goodnight, Kiyoomi," he manages to spit out while stopping from running into the man. The usual mask is covering his face again, the collar of this jacket popped up high, hands stuffed in his pockets not to touch something without the need to. It is odd to see him leaving as one of the last ones, as he usually rushed out first.

"Goodnight. Rest well," he murmurs from behind the sterile blue fabric over his mouth and makes his way to the main exit. Maybe he has noticed Atsumu is off as well? Right. As if. It's just the universe playing with Atsumu. How is he supposed to let go of this crush?

\---

The white numbers on the screen of Atsumu's phone read near 11 PM. He should get a good night's rest before the game, he should try sleeping, but he can't. His mind keeps jumping between what Bokuto said about everyone noticing he is off and the terrifying thought Kiyoomi has noticed too. Does he even care about such things? Is it really that noticeable? If it affects the way he works with others on the court, he has to do something about it.

"Damn it," he lets out a frustrated sigh and unlocks his phone, going straight to the internet browser. His personal issues can't hinder the team. He can't be this selfish.

Of course, the first thought is to go for the cliche sites, but even typing them out seems off, and he can't really explain why. As per Bokuto's suggestion, he types 'OnlyFans' into the site-bar; he has heard enough about the site to give it a try. The very fact the site instantly requests him to register feels odd, but he goes with it - he could deactivate the account at any moment. His curiosity might be winning over at this point as he browses through the site, navigating the pages and different sections. It takes a second, but he gets the hang of it and tries his luck looking for accounts near his location. He is currently staying in a hotel until the championship is over, but seeing what goes on around can't harm. A couple of accounts pop out but what catches his attention is a profile picture with some great thighs in seemingly volleyball team shorts. He doesn't recognize the team colors and assumes it might even be a fictional team. So a cosplay account, perhaps. Intrigued, he proceeds with checking it out.

Some posts are available instantly, most hiding behind a reasonable paywall, a rather low one even. The unlocked pictures make the price seem even more unreasonable as the content is good - great even, fully advertising what subscribers are getting into. Firm, muscular thighs in shorts that might be a size smaller than they should be, often accompanied with an undeniable bulge right in the shot. The v line formed by just a glimpse of abbs and hipbones stopping Atsumu for longer than he wanted to admit.

"10 bucks a month is nothing," he murmurs as his fingers move on their own, enter his card details, and subscribe to the account, the paywall disappearing and all posts appearing before him. As he is about to click on a set of pictures, his phone vibrates in his hand, and he almost drops it on the floor. A new message on the site surprises him, and for a second, his heart is about to leave his chest as he opens it. Of course, it is an automated message, thanking him for the support. The creator behind the account quite openly states, "he does this for fun - to relieve stress - and uses the money for a good cause every month," which makes this even better than before.

"Sexy and socially conscious. Nice," Atsumu laughs and proceeds to the now unlocked content and soon realizes this has been the best and the worst idea ever.

It starts off tame - full body shots of roaring, defined muscles but nothing too explicit. Each line between his abs, his chest, his sides are perfectly placed, and the blond's eyes hungrily take in every bit of it - from the valleys of his collarbones to his perky nipples and the faint trail of hair leaving from his navel to the tent in his pants. "Damn..." he murmurs to himself and proceeds to the next set of pictures.

Tensed arms, each muscle of the biceps seemingly carved by an artist, veins popping out on the lower arm and hands. "He's tall," is the calculation he makes from the long limbs he explores as much as the pictures allow him to. The sinful thought of 'is everything proportional' rushes through his head, closely followed by 'I'd like to see his face.' No picture so far features anything above the neck, and even though the picture is already worth the tenner and more, seeing the face of this marvelously built man would be great. But he, obviously, wants to stay anonymous. Atsumu can respect that.

The time nears 1 AM, but Atsumu finds it impossible to put the phone away, as he has hit the far more explicit part of the content in a video format. Yet another pair of gym shorts that are far too tight and belong to a fictional volleyball team set the scene, as the man sits down in a very simple chair that could be the interior of any hotel Atsumu has ever seen. It's a bit strange to see a folded towel covering the chair's seat, but Atsumu doesn't pay much attention to it. The man's larger hands slowly, ridiculously slowly run all over his torso, his breathing getting just a bit faster as his hand reaches the front of the shorts, stroking it slowly above the fabric. It is almost an unstoppable reaction as Atsumu's hand does the same, mimicking the motion and speed of the man he is so intently watching on the screen.

He shifts a bit on the bed to keep the phone close and give his hand enough freedom to move. As the man's unoccupied hand goes over his chest again, up to his neck, giving it the lightest squeeze, his hand tensing up and back arching a little, Atsumu lets out the strangest exhale he has ever made. Heat rises in his entire body, and he pauses the video just for a second to pull his own t-shirt over his head. The blond lays on his back, on the hand holding the phone while the other lazily works on the growing bulge in his shorts.

A wet spot begins to form on the synthetic fabric, and the man lets out a quiet grunt, and Atsumu echoes it, being the first one to slip his hands in his boxers. The man follows right after, but instead of simply putting his hand down his tight shorts, he moves down the waistband, letting his fully erect cock appear before the camera and the blond gasps. He absolutely is proportional - long, not overly thick letting his hand fully and tightly wrap around the girth. His unoccupied hand grabs onto the armrest of the chair as he begins stroking his dick, slowing down every time his hand goes up over the sensitive, leaking tip. There is almost desperation in his low grunts, and he is definitely holding his voice back.

"Fuck," Atsumu breathes out, his hand sliding smoothly over his own cock wet with the pre-release. "Fuck," he repeats as the man lets go of the armrest and yanks his shorts down more, revealing the dark, well-kept bush of hair and balls, his hand now moving more freely over the entire length. The surprises don't stop as he kicks the shorts off and grabs something from a table out of frame; the item is a pocket version of an unscented lubricant. Atsumu knows how it looks for many reasons. With ridiculous precision, the clear, glossy liquid drips down the man's cock, as his hand begins to move even faster, and the blond wishes he would have some too, but he doesn't dare to stop and look for his own somewhere in his bags.

The man swings one of his long legs over the armrest, exposing more of himself to the camera, and nothing can tear Atsumu's eyes from the screen. His long, shiny fingers glide over his hole, and he shivers, swirling the rim slowly and thoroughly. Atsumu feels his mouth hanging open as he watches, salivating at the image before him. The dexterity to keep both hands moving is something else but is the last thing to admire about the man. The second his first finger presses inside his body, he cums all over his own stomach, still keeping his voice down while trembling from his orgasm, his voice sounding muffled by something else than just his will. Yet, he doesn't stop.

Atsumu feels he is at the tipping point himself, just a second before falling over the edge. Still, he keeps looking, keeps ogling how the overly sensitive, trembling man works one, two, then three fingers in and out of himself, grunting and gasping. His cock is getting hard again, his breathing rapid as he fucks himself quite mercilessly, his shaking hand grabbing onto his length again. It finally draws a proper moan from him, which is the final push that makes everything blurry before Atsumu's eyes for a second. The obscenely wet sound coming from his phone makes him focus faster than ever before, his hand still stroking his dick and living through the last moments of high as the man on the screen is falling apart for the second time.

"Come on, baby, cum for me one more time," Atsumu whispers to the screen, his own breathing fast, and almost like on a magic spell, the man does exactly that - his body arching from the chair as he finishes himself off again. "Such a good boy," the blond breathes out, his heart racing in his chest as he looks at the final seconds of the video - the man spent, breathing heavy and shiver slightly. Damn, if Atsumu would be given a chance, he could probably make him come one more time at least. The video ends, and the blond finally tears his eyes away from the screen. Strangely, there is no guilt - just an elated feeling swirling in his chest as stomach. This, perhaps, is a good idea after all.

\---

"Atsu! That was awesome!" Bokuto raises both of his hands for a high-five, and Atsumu takes the invite, hitting his teammates' hands, the sound ringing through the court even with the crowd cheering. Their last combo had come out brilliant, earning them the winning point, which is always the most exciting feeling - the feeling of giving everything one has and winning.

The whole team huddles up in a couple of seconds, celebrating a near-flawless win as their strength is hard to match. It's a tight squeeze of excited young men, and Kiyoomi ends up squished right against Atsumu's side. They're both hot, sweaty, still breathing heavily, and the rush of winning runs through them in an almost intoxicating way. It has knocked Atsumu so out of it he dares to place his arm around Kiyoomi's lower back, pulling his teammate closer to himself, not even noticing his own actions until the group hugs breaks and his hand too slowly runs over the small of Kiyoomi's back. He pulls it back as if he just got burned, not knowing what got into him.

"Sorry," the blond mumbles. He has known Kiyoomi for years now. He has liked him for as long. But he still fears to cross some borders that could make his teammate, his friend, uncomfortable.

"Don't mind," the taller man brushes it off surprisingly well, even smiling a little, and proceeds to line up along with the rest of the team to thank their opponents for the game. The blond's head must be playing tricks with him, as it almost sounds like he is being teased, but he doesn't have the mental capacity to analyze it now.

"Don't mind..." Atsumu whispers and takes a spot next to him. This is stupid. Feeling this close to someone but yet so far is stupid. He is stupid because of this, but what can he actually do?

As always, Kiyoomi is first in the showers, and as he is already getting dressed, others just begin heading to wash up. The room is a loud mess, the ecstatic feeling of winning filling the air. It isn't a new feeling, but each time still feels special, which is the main reason for pushing them forward every time.

"I'm so glad you got yourself together, Atsu," Bokoto suddenly announces, rubbing his head with a towel. "We still would have won today, but playing together with everyone at their best feels more right," he continues, and a few curious eyes turn to Atsumu. Did Bokuto play him about everyone noticing he was off?

"Oi... shut up," he mumbles and tries to pull a t-shirt over his head as fast as he can and get out of this situation. It did feel odd Bokuto started that conversation. If anyone, Shoyo would probably notice something wrong first. Or, maybe, Kiyoomi.

"I already told you it's nothing to feel ashamed about!" Bokuto's voice booms around the room, unnecessarily loudly. "We all have those moments. Right, Oomi?" he turns to their teammate already about to leave the obnoxiously loud room.

"Sure," his answer has no enthusiasm behind it, and Atsumu feels heat going to his cheeks. The person he likes has been dragged into a conversation about him masturbating. This conversation is a thing to begin with, and it shouldn't be.

"Drop it," the blond almost hisses, which takes Bokuto back for a second until he lets out a loud laugh. Very little can phase him, and Atsumu knows he isn't on that list.

"Chill," he laughs. "How about we all go get a drink together? To celebrate and relax a bit. Our next game is in 3 days, so tomorrow is off anyway," he suggests, and most of the room cheers in agreement.

"I'll pass," Atsumu replies quickly and gathers his things. "I have something scheduled," he adds before anyone asks, he usually doesn't skip on such gatherings, but this time he has to skip. There're plenty of disappointed grunts, but he pays them no mind, waves a quick goodbye, and walks past Kiyoomi, still standing at the door. What he, unfortunately, doesn't hear is Kiyoomi declining the offer as well.

\---

"I can't believe I did this," Atsumu sighs as he turns on his laptop, opens a web browser, and logs into his just yesterday made account. "I actually did this," he lets out a long breath once more as he checks his purchases. The only higher-priced post from the creator's page he clicked on in the post-orgasm daze is before his eyes with a now updated link to a private live stream. His head was absolutely in the clouds as he confirmed the 30 dollar purchase last night, but he isn't about to let his money go to waste. It will be worth it, more than spending twice as much drinking with the guys.

Apart from him, around 20 people are waiting for the stream to start. Everyone's excited and talking about the tips they will drop along with requests, veteran supporters reminding that asking for a face reveal or anything too weird won't fly. It almost feels like a very tight community and also surprisingly positive and versatile - the usernames of various genres appearing in the chat. "He is very much worth it after all," Atsumu says more to himself and settles more comfortably in the hotel chair in front of the desk. The bed and hallways reflect in a horror-film-worthy way on the black screen, and he considers turning on the light to make it less disturbing, but before he stands up, the screen goes into loading mode, and an image appears.

The man is wearing tight yellow shorts with green lines on the sides and matching, too tight to handle, t-shirt shirt. The colors instantly remind of Kiyoomi's old uniform, but Atsumu shakes his head and gets the thought away. If he ever wants to get over him, no matter how impossible it feels after all this time, he can't associate everything with him, especially when he just wants to relax for a bit. The background of the hotel hallway and the bed looks very much like Atsumu's, even the color of the walls matching, which is a bit odd but also very normal in a way. It is a standard layout for most hotels, after all.

Peculiarly, the man doesn't speak but types his answers in the chat. The way he angles his body as he writes gives an amazing, artistic angle showing off each curve of his body, and it is definitely not a bad option. He still manages to keep his face out of the frame, his chin appearing for a second, and it looks like he has a mask on. Probably, to be extra careful in case of a slip-up. Soon enough, donations begin to flow in, switching the laid-back mood up a notch. The first one requests a shirt removal straight away; the amount donated quite impressive. The piece of clothing is peeled off the perfect body teasingly slow manner, and it's enough to get one's breathing caught in one chest. Some donations just say hi or thank the creator, some request him to touch himself - it's a mix of both, and it is almost entertaining.

For most of the stream, Atsumu remains silent - simply enjoying the low-key sensual and just quite fun content. His favorite highlights between the creator refusing to do get naked by shaking his finger to his hands pulling the band of his shorts lower, even too low. But as the evening goes to an end, the last 10 minutes of the stream announced, he dares to drop a bit more money on the man whose face he hasn't even seen. 'Your content is a blessing during a rough patch. Helped me a lot,' he types as he confirms the donation. It's dumb and cliche, but true. His message and name flash on this screen for a minute, but it catches the man's attention as he leans closer to read it.

"Don't mind, Atsumu," he speaks for the first time during the entire two hour stream, which sends the chat into a frenzy while Atsumu is about to lose his mind, possibly even pass out.

He knows that voice. He knows it so well he is actually malfunctioning, soundlessly opening and closing his mouth. The voice, the intonation - he can't be wrong. It's Kiyoomi. The man on the other side of this scream, ignoring the yelling in the chat and calmly ending the stream while shirtless, his shorts riding a bit too low to be decent, is Kiyoomi Sakusa. The hotel, the uniform colors, the peak of the mask - it all suddenly makes sense. But that also means the man Atsumu jerked off to yesterday was him. And now he knows Atsumu is watching this live stream.

In a panic, despite the stream ending already, the blond exits the browser and shuts his laptop off with trembling hands. What is going on? And what will happen now? How will he able to look Kiyoomi in the eyes or play on the same team? What has he done?

\---

The practice that comes in two days is the most horrible experience in Atsumu's life. He almost feels nauseous as he enters the gym, Shouyo pointing out how pale he looks. To avoid being a hindrance or drawing any more attention towards himself, he puts all his focus into each drill, each combo they practice before the next game. He sets for Kiyoomi as if nothing has happened and acts as normals as he can even though his stomach is turning. He can pull through this, so maybe at least the team won't be affected as a whole, but his relationship, his friendship with Kiyoomi is probably in shambles, not to mention anything else.

As the practice draws to an end, Atsumu intentionally stays back - gathering balls, doing unnecessary stretches - perfectly calculating the time it would take for Kiyoomi to get ready and leave ahead of others. As he finally makes his way to the locker room and showers, Meian is the last one left, packing up his stuff. He pats Atsumu's shoulder as they exchange in the door, and so he is left alone, apart from two jackets on a bench near the door. He lets out a long, shaky breath before stripping down and getting to the showers. It's impossible, but he hopes maybe the nauseating feeling would step away from him after a long shower, washing the gym dust off.

"You took your time," a voice he doesn't expect to hear greats him as he returns to the main room, a towel wrapped around his waist and another one sitting on top of his head.

"Kiyoomi..." he lets out in half-whisper and instantly looks away from the man sitting on a bench near the lockers across from where Atsumu's things are. "I thought you left."

"I didn't," the dark-haired man states, his mask covering his mouth and nose, arms crossed on his chest.

"I see," the blond nods and proceeds to walk to his locker, lifting his clothes back and forth without making any progress. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, remains seated, his eyes pinned on Atsumu to the point the latter snaps. "So why are you here?"

"Don't you think we should talk?" he asks in a serious tone, and Atsumu can't look at him again. He is usually so brave and cocky, but around Kiyoomi, he turns into a mess that is barely holding together. What talking could possibly happen with him acting like a prepubescent kid?

"I'm sorry," Atsumu murmurs and glances at Kiyoomi, who is still staring at him.

"Why? You didn't like what you got for your money?" he asks, still from underneath his mask. It is such an odd question Atsumu is taken aback, and he finally looks directly at the dark-haired man.

"What?"

"If you didn't like it, why did you even look at it?" Kiyoomi continues, and the blond might be hearing wrong, but he almost sounds offended or maybe even hurt.

"No! No, that's not the problem!" Atsumu shakes his head. "I... enjoyed it a lot!" he almost yells out, his cheeks and ears burning. "What I wrote in the donation message is true!"

"Than why the strange attitude?" Kiyoomi stands up and walks over to the still confused and dazed Atsumu. "It's not that you intentionally found my page, isn't it?" he stops so that only the bench is between them and takes his mask off, leaving it on his chin. "Am I the cause of the rough patch?"

"Yes," the blood responds, perhaps a bit too fast for his own liking. His hands are balled into fists by his sides. "Yes, you are," he repeats himself. "Because I like you, Oomi. I like you," he finally has the courage to push the words over his lips - the words he has been holding in for so long. A weight leaves his shoulders, and he exhales slowly, an out of place smile appearing on his face. "I like you," he repeats one more time, looking for any reaction.

There is no response from Kiyoomi, which at first scares the blond, but the taller man suddenly takes one large step over the bench between them, standing right in front of Atsumu. He is so close the neutrals scent he radiates infiltrates Atsumu's nose. It gets even stronger when Kiyoomi's hand gently settles on his cheek. "You are an idiot," he whispers, and Atsumu is not imagining it when Kiyoomi's voice shakes a little. There is a bit of hesitation on his side, his eyes darting from Atsumu's eyes to his lips, and in that split second, Atsumu takes over, pressing his lips against Kiyoomi's.

It's a short, intense press of the lips from which they both pull away at the same time, yet only for a second before their lips meet again. This time there's movement - perfectly synced up - tongues meeting, soft grunts disappearing in the heavy air of the locker room. Kiyoomi's hands settle on Atsumu's bare sides right above where the towel ends, the blond grabbing a fistful of the taller man's shirt. There's subtle desperation in their lip-lock, and Atsumu can't tell from whom it's coming more. He could bet on himself, but as Kiyoomi holds onto him tighter, his hands hot against Atsumu's skin, he needs to rethink his answer.

"So, does this mean..." Atsumu begins a question between the kisses, their bodies still close together, but he isn't given a chance to complete it.

"Ask what I think you want to ask, and the answer will be no," Kiyoomi almost pouts, his upper lip pushing forward a bit more. "Do you think I would let _you_ kiss me if I didn't like you," he adds, almost teasing a bit dazed blond.

"Oi! And here I thought you are a cool guy who donates money and stuff, turns out you're quite the prick, aren't you? " Atsumu responds quickly, mimicking the teasing tone.

"So what? You want a refund?" the taller of two quite daringly pulls Atsumu closer by his waist.

"Absolutely. But I don't want money," this time the blond is the one to grind against the other man purposely. He pulls Kiyoomi down for another session of kisses, and it almost isn't registering in his brain that he is this close to the one person he values so much he can't put it in words.

"Stand against the lockers," Kiyoomi whispers against Atsumu's lips, and the blond doesn't even think twice, obeying immediately. He presses his back against the cold metal doors, a pleasant shiver running through him. His eyes follow as Kiyoomi grabs his jacket from the bench and drops it on the floor before him. He wants to process, but as Kiyoomi kneels before him, the protest turns out into a silent 'oh'. Only when Kiyoomi's hands quickly and skillfully get the towel off Atsumu's lower half does it fully hit him.

"Hold up," he stammers, the dark-haired man's hand already wrapping around Atsumu's cock, the traitorous piece of flesh growing hard, probably faster than ever before. "What if someone walks in?" the blond tries to reason. There is a set of 3 lockers that hide them from the main door, and unless someone walks directly past them, no one would see them, but it's still quite dangerous.

"And if they do?" Kiyoomi asks, and Atsumu's eyes lock with his. This angle makes the blond dizzy, unable to differentiate between fantasy and reality. Even when Kiyoomi's tongue licks at the head of his dick, swirling around it, like he is savoring it, it still doesn't fully hit Atsumu. Only as the dark-haired man closes his lips around the crown, his cheeks hollowing, head moving forward slowly and then back again, does it finally settle in.

"Fuck, Oomi," Atsumu breathes out, his hand hovering in the air above the curly head of hair, a low grunt encouraging him to tangle his fingers in the hair. "Fuck," he whispers again as the man between his legs works nothing less than magick. From just his tongue licking at the shaft - each bulging vein and ridge - to lapping at the tip so shamelessly, it's hard to believe who is actually doing it. His hands are perfect for wrapping around the length, the small, deep noises he makes going through every fiber of Atsumu's being.

The blond's grasp gets tighter as Kiyoomi moves his head forward, even more, the tip of Atsumu's dick hitting the back of his throat. He doesn't make a single sound of discomfort but rather moans, his glossy eyes looking up at Atsumu. Mouth wide open, drooling a little, lips deep pink, cheeks flushed red, eyes half shut and sparkling in the artificial lights of the locker room. His hair is a mess, the mask hanging only on one ear, and Atsumu can swear he could bust right there and then from the visual alone, but instead, he pulls out of Kiyoomi's mouth, even as the other man protests.

"You're so good," he runs his fingers through the black curls, and his heart is beating out of his chest as he looks down at the kneeling man. "As a good boy, you should get rewards, right?" he breathes out, his own voice wavering a bit as Kiyoomi looks up at him like the perfect fantasy climbed straight out of Atsumu's mind. "Touch yourself, Oomi," he instructs, and there's another type of sparkle in the man's eyes as he looks away just for a second to undo his pants and pull them down just enough, his cock hard and trembling upon hitting the air. His fingers wrap around the twitching length, his eyes falling shut for a second, a long exhale falling from his lips before he locks his eyes with Atsumu again.

"Fucking hell," the blond gasps, and both of his hands settle in the black mane as he guides the eagerly open mouth back to his dick. Kiyoomi's free hand grabs onto the standing man's thighs, small pleased noises echoing from his chest as he allows Atsumu to move on his own, fucking his mouth slowly. This is the most sound Atsumu has ever heard from him, and everything apart from it turns into white noise, his focus only on Kiyoomi before him.

"I'll just quickly grab my jacket!" a voice, both of them instantly recognizable as Shouyo yells dangerously close, and both of them freeze for a second. "There's another one here! Come see, whose is it," he says to someone who hasn't spoken loudly enough to be identified.

Atsumu is frozen in fear, staring at the corner where the lockers concealing them ends, fearing someone will walk past any second. A tight squeeze on his thigh makes him look down. The look on Kiyoomi's face is almost devilish, hypnotizing even, and Atsumu can't fight against it. He tunes out the voices theorizing about the lost jacket and focuses only on the man before him. He speeds up, hitting the back of Kiyoomi's throat mercilessly, but if the rapidly moving hand over his own cock is a telling factor, the kneeling man is loving every second of it. 

"Oomi... Fuck..."Atsumu whispers under his breath, not caring if anyone will hear him as he thrusts forward, keeping Kiyoomi's head in place as he comes. He bites his lower lip to keep the noise down, the visual of the dark-haired man taking every second of it with the most delighted expression on his face, his body shaking slightly as he comes to over his own hand and Atsumu's jacket on the floor, too much and not enough at the same time.

The voices leave the locker room, still arguing about the jacket, and Atsumu finally exhales. He let's go of Kiyoomi's head and, still gasping for air, slides down the lockers, sitting on the towel that had landed on the floor seemingly ages ago. The man before him looks so little like himself, but at the time, so much like his true self Atsumu can't look away. He looks happy and blissful, the faintest smile on his still parted lips. He's glowing, radiating in the most ridiculous yet unique post-orgasm way, and Atsumu could swear he has just fallen for the man even more.

He reaches out, gently placing his hand on Kiyoomi's nape, and guides him closer. The hint is taken immediately as the man moves closer, their lips meeting again. "Is this really the Kiyoomi Sakusa I know?" Atsumu murmurs, both of them catching their breath, sharing short kisses.

"No. This is the Kiyoomi only you know," he replies, and there is this burst of excitement in Atsumu's chest, and he pulls Kiyoomi even closer, this time to hug the man properly responds to for probably the first time. And as Kiyoomi hugs him back, his whole body is about to catch fire - even after all what they just did, this hits differently.

"Me and a couple of hundred subscribers?" Atsumu murmurs, causing Kiyoomi to chuckle, which is the rarest sound on planet earth, and no one can convince Atsumu it's not.

"No. This content is for VIPs only, dumbass," Kiyoomi pulls away and, as Atsumu's eyes follow him, stands up. His legs wobble a little, and the blond's hands reach out to catch him if necessary, but there's no need. "You need to take responsibility for me needing another shower now," he frowns and begins taking his clothes off, inspecting each piece to make sure none of them are dirty. "You will just sit there?" he looks down at the still dazed blond.

"I like this view," he smirks at the almost completely naked man towering above him.

"I look better on a bed. Naked," Kiyoomi responds in his usual dry tone and turns towards the showers. It takes exactly half a minute for Atsumu to realize what was just said and get on his feet.

"Oh, we are so testing that," he smirks and follows Kiyoomi to the showers, his head buzzing with ideas he now knows his more-than-crush will support.

**Author's Note:**

> a PWP with contextual bits of information aka I have no idea what I am doing but here it is! Be nice, plz.  
> \---------  
>  Twitter 


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